


Ruination

by TooManyChoices



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Because I have no idea what will happen, But Sherlock doesn't die, Gen, I have a horrible feeling, I'm gonna be bloody angry if I'm right about this, Inspired by the trailer, S4E1 What-if, spoiler-free
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-09
Updated: 2016-09-09
Packaged: 2018-08-14 01:29:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7993621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TooManyChoices/pseuds/TooManyChoices
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock always puts John first, and this time is no different, with disasterous consequences.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ruination

**Author's Note:**

> So, I've been watching the trailer and having a think about all the bits and pieces of clues from Setlock and here's MY guess on where the story arc is going to take us (and if I'm right, I'll be found in my room rocking and muttering "no, no, no, no")
> 
> This is ALL conjecture and supposition, but I keep seeing those shots in the trailer where Sherlock looks utterly WRECKED and this was the most logical reason I could come up with.
> 
> Sorry folks.

Molly was dragged through a series of doors and up a set of stairs, finally emerging by the side of the large tank at the London Aquarium. Through the water, highlighted by the internal lights, she could see the largest of the residents, rays, sharks, and groupers as they swum lazily in the water.

“Doctor… Molly… Hooper,” The feminine voice carried an Irish lilt without a trace of the customary good humour, “Moriarty’s been watching you for a while.”

Stepping into view, Janine’s dark hair was tied back in an efficient bun, and the bile rose in Molly throat as the striking resemblance to her brother became apparent.

Confirming the relationship she continued speaking, “You rather spoiled my brother’s plans, you know; getting _involved_ , saving Sherlock on the roof.”

Molly struggled against the two solid men who held her arms behind her back.

“The one who _mattered most of all_ , that’s what Sherlock called you. He’s quite chatty, you know, when he’s tucked up safe and warm at Baker Street. Not quite the pillow talk I was hoping for, but still,” she looked Molly up and down, “quite useful.”

“What we want to know, is whether you really matter to him. You see, we think you were just useful to him, a tool to be applied as needed. Bat those pretty eyes at you, pitch that voice _just so_ , and you’d do anything for him.”

“It’s not like that.”

“No. No I don’t suppose it is. He’s not like that, and we both know it. Doesn’t stop you _hoping_ though, does it. Hoping that if you wait long enough, pay enough attention that maybe he’ll turn that thousand watt smile in your direction.”

“He’ll find you, he’s probably on his way now.”

“Oh, I hope so, I really do, for your sake. But let’s give him a little nudge, shall we?” He stepped forward and reached down into the pocket of Molly’s lab coat, drawing out her mobile phone.

“Tsk, tsk. No password, you really ought to be more careful about security, Molly. You never know who could break into your private data.”

“What are you doing?”

Janine scrolled through Molly’s contacts until she found Sherlock’s name and hit dial, lifting it to her ear as it rung. Once, twice, three times and then Sherlock’s baritone echoed on the other end of the line.

_You’ve reached Sherlock, although given that you dialled my number, that should be obvious to all but the most cretinous. Leave a message and don’t be boring._

“Oh, what a pity, he appears to be too busy to speak to you. And with the clock ticking too.”

*

  
“She’ll be fine, John. They both will,” Sherlock glanced at the screen of his mobile as Molly’s name flashed up and punched the ignore button. “The baby’s only a couple of weeks from term and Mary’s in good health.”

“I should never have taken that corner so fast, I should’ve been more careful.” John sat at his side on the hard hospital chairs.

“What was the alternative? The other car came out of nowhere. An accident was inevitable, the only question was how bad it was going to be. You chose the lesser of two evils.”

John balanced his elbows on his knees and then cradled his head in his hands, “If anything happens to her, Sherlock. It’ll be my fault.”

“They’ll be fine,” Sherlock lay a large hand on John’s shoulder.

“Mr Watson?” The nurses voice came from in front of them, “If you’ll come with me?”

*

Janine checked her watch, “Shall we try him again, it’s been almost fifteen minutes.”

“He’ll find me, Sherlock will always beat you.”

“Mmmm, perhaps” Janine thumbed the redial button and put the phone on speaker.

_You’ve reached Sherlock, although given that you dialled my number, that should be obvious to all but the most creti—_

Janine hung up again and shook her head, “Pity. Looks like you’re out of time, Molly Hooper.”

“No!”

Janine nodded to the two men behind Molly’s back and they efficiently got to work. One knelt at her feet and wrapped her ankles with broad tape. The other adjusted his grip to hold her while his partner worked to attach a rope connecting the tape to a pair of oxygen tanks laying on the tiles by her side.

“You can’t,” Molly shouted in horror.

“I most certainly can,” and with a nod to her two guards, they lifted her and pitched her off the edge. The two tanks dropped swiftly, the cables linking them to her ankles unspooled as they sank to the bottom of the tank, briefly jerking Molly’s head below the surface before she furiously waved her arms in the water to keep her face above the surface.

“Comfy?” Janine looked at her, smiling as she watched the water lapping over her mouth and nose as the gentle waves of the tank subsided again.

“Help me,” Molly struggled, her clothes working against her and threatening to tangle her arms.

“Oh, I think that’s Sherlock’s job, really. Pity he’s not here.”

“Call him —” She spluttered as talking filled her mouth with water, “call him again.”

“But he’s… Oh, all right, let’s give him another go, shall we?”

*

“She’s got your eyes, John.”

The two men stood side by side at the side of the humidicrib. John’s daughter was screaming lustily, pink, and perfect. They’d put her under observation overnight, but all her tests indicated that in spite of her unexpected early entrance to the world, she was absolutely fine.

“You think?” John looked down fondly.

“Well, strictly speaking, all babies have blue eyes, and I could just as accurately have said that she appears to have Winston Churchill’s chin. But yes, I do think there’s a similarity between your eyes that goes beyond mere coincidence.”

John turned to smile at Sherlock just as the detective’s phone rang again.

“You should get that, it’s the third time in half an hour.”

Sherlock barely glanced down before hitting the ignore button again, “It’s not important. Let’s talk to the nurse about when you can hold your daughter.”

*

“What a shame. It looks like we’ve both learned just how much you matter to him. What did he tell you when he sent you into the lion’s den to gather information while he played happy families with the Watsons? Did he tell you that you were _essential_ to him, that he couldn’t do without you.” Janine pulled out a revolver from the back of her tailored trousers, “Well he’s going to need to learn how.”

“Please —” Molly struggled to remain afloat even while her strength was ebbing,” — don’t.”

“Goodbye, Molly Hooper.”

With the sharp crack the sound of a shot rung off the hard surfaces of the room and blood blossomed at Molly’s shoulder, spreading quickly into the water around her. Molly screamed.

“That should speed things up. The sharks in the tank are fed regularly, but they’ll still react to blood in the water.” Janine watched her as she slipped below the surface, only to bob up again, thrashing desperately.

She watched as the Sharks circled closer and then, with a vicious smile turned and walked away, pausing only to switch off the light as she closed the door.

*

Three hours later, a little after 2am, Sherlock’s phone rang again and with a huff of frustration, Sherlock pulled it from his coat pocket expecting to see Molly’s name again and quite ready to tell her to wait until the morning to pass on whatever she’d found. Instead, he saw Lesrtrade’s name on the lit screen.

“What?” Sherlock snapped as he tapped the answer button.

“Sherlock, I need you to come to the morgue,” Lestrade’s voice was flat.

“Oh for God’s sake, tell Molly it can wait until the morning. Mary went into premature labour and I’m —”

“Sherlock,” Lestrade butted in, “Stop, just… stop. You need to come,” for the first time he’d known him, Lestrade’s voice broke on the other end of the line and a sudden, sick feeling welled in Sherlock’s gut, “There’s been a… It’s Molly, Sherlock, she’s —”

“She’s what?” Sherlock snapped, stopping the words in a desperate hope of stopping what he knew was coming.

“They found her at the aquarium,” Lestrade’s voice was barely audible, “Just come, soon as you can. Please.”

Sherlock felt his legs go from under him and he threw his hand out to catch himself before he fell, He heard his mobile rattle against the hospital floor where it had slipped from his fingers.

 _Not Molly, please not Molly Hooper_. His mind replayed the preceding hours, the flash of her name on his phone, calling for help, calling desperately for him and he’d disregarded her. She’d saved his live at Barts and in return, he’d left her alone when she needed him most.

In a daze, he didn’t even speak to John before heading for the door, leaving the new father with his tiny pink bundle sitting in the rocking chair.

*

The room seemed unnaturally quiet without Molly’s presence to warm it. But of course the full horror, Sherlock thought as he first glimpsed the sheet covered body on the autopsy table, was that Molly was here after all.

Lestrade stood silently to one side, face haggard and eyes clearly red from crying, although they were dry now.

Sherlock raised his hands to his face, now rough after nearly 36 hours without shaving, covering his mouth to hold in the wail of disbelief.

Lestrade looked up from the oddly too small figure on the table and the moment their eyes met, Sherlock knew the truth. Molly, our Molly, is gone. His hands fell away and he felt the sudden bite of despairing tears. He stepped toward the table, covering the space quickly until Lestrade reached out to still his progress.

“Don’t, Sherlock. You don’t want to look. Not this time.”

Sherlock struggled to pass him and the hands holding him gripped harder.

“She’d been shot. They found her in the tank,” Lestrade’s voice cracked again, “The fish… the fish got at her. They say there were sharks.”

“Oh God,” Sherlock whispered as he leaned heavily against Lestrade and stared sightlessly at the sheet covered body.

“You didn’t know, Sherlock. It’s OK, you didn’t know.”

 _I did know_. That was the problem, Sherlock thought. Molly had tried to call him three times. Had given him three opportunities to come to her rescue and he’d let her down. Internally, he was screaming. But looking at Lestrade, wracked by the grief of losing a skilled and dear colleague, he couldn't burden the Inspector with his guilt.

“They’ll take care of her, Sherlock. They’ll do what needs to be done and they’ll send you the file and we’ll catch them, whoever these bastards are, we’ll catch them.”

Sherlock nodded dumbly as Lestrade led him to the door, out onto the street and put him into a cab. Hearing the voices like they were at the bottom of a bucket, he realised Lestrade was sending him home to Baker Street.

*

Sherlock sat on the sofa in the dark, the tears had stopped flowing around half an hour ago and now he just wanted to be numb, to chase the pain away and forget how he hurt and betrayed the people who thought of him as a friend over and over again. John, and now Molly. Who was next? Mrs Hudson, Lestrade.

Sherlock looked at the arrayed packets and bottles in front of him. Oblivion in tiny capsules and tablets. With trembling fingers he picked up the pen and tapped it on the paper and began slowly, methodically to keep his commitment to his brother.

He began making a list.


End file.
